Searching his memory, Grayson tried to picture the earl and saw an older, white-haired man.There had been whispers that he had married beneath him, but Grayson had liked the countess, with her bright eyes and dark curls.Once, he had come upon her rocking the baby, and she had let him hold the infant.
Smiling to himself, he recalled the warm and milky smell and the awe he had felt at such a tiny being.The little one had looked like her mama, with a thatch of soft, deep brown hair…
Kate.Grayson drew in a breath as he realized that he had held the poppet in his arms before.The discovery startled him, though it should not have.
Having grown up among the titled and privileged, he had played with far more important personages.Yet the knowledge that he had greeted her so soon after her arrival into the world and put her to his heart, seemed prophetic somehow.
Grayson’s mouth twisted at such strange musings, and he shook off the odd mood, concentrating instead on Kate’s history.The earl and his wife had seemed much like his own parents, wealthy and comfortable and happy together.Obviously, there had been another child, the disagreeable Lucy, but then what had happened?
Tongossip had held little interest for a youth, and his own life had taken such a turn that he was too occupied to wonder about one of so many acquaintances.Grayson knew only that the earl had died several years ago, leaving the title in abeyance.What of the man’s wife and daughters?
Kate had mentioned a guardian, but where was he?Whoever it was ought to be horsewhipped for burying two lovely young girls in the country without a chaperone or servants, to fend for themselves like peasants.
It was unconscionable.When he wrote his valet, he would send a note round to his secretary with instructions to do some discreet investigating into the matter.Grayson’s jaw tightened at the thought of meeting whoever was responsible for Kate’s veritable servitude.Meanwhile, he found himself anxious to hear her version of events, if only she could be induced to trust him.
But with the discovery of their bloodlines came the knowledge that neither Kate nor Lucy could play consort to any man.One simply did not make an earl’s daughter a mistress.
Grayson not only needed to find the man who had ruined Lucy, but arrange her marriage.And, as for her sister… Grayson smiled slowly.He already had plans for Kate.
Heading back toward the house, Grayson sought the study, where he helped himself to paper, pen, and ink.His directions to his secretary were clear and concise.He had no idea whether his absence had caused concern or not, but he did not want the country up in arms over his whereabouts.
Grayson paused at the thought that no one would miss him.But beyond his servants and a few close friends, who would care?His loss would be felt throughout the political arena, but personally?His lips curled contemptuously at such maudlin musings.
Resting his palm against the foolscap.Grayson contemplated the sum of his achievements.He took his responsibilities seriously and executed his duties well.He always had.He had held the title and all he had inherited and had profited from his own investments.
Perhaps he enjoyed less leisure time than his peers, but he did not want for good food, good wine, good company, or the pleasure of women.What more could a man ask of life?
Nothing, he told himself firmly, and yet, he had the distinct feeling that he had missed something, some elemental mystery that idiots like Wycliffe had discovered.He frowned at such an absurd claim, gathered his wits about him, and began writing in his distinctive, elegant hand.
A separate note to his valet followed, with explicit instructions.Grayson wanted to send for his entire staff, but without more details on the situation at Hargate, he thought it best to wait.In the meantime, perhaps he could at least bring on a cook, to spare himself any more kitchen duties.
Once finished, Grayson folded one paper inside the other and sealed it, pressing his heavy signet ring into a dab of wax to ensure delivery.He had found the stub of wax in the desk drawer after some effort, for the girls appeared to do little in the way of corresponding with the outside world.It angered him, the way they were cut off from everyone, like social pariahs, prey to smooth-talking seducers.
Although Grayson could not picture serious Kate succumbing to honeyed words, there were many unscrupulous men who would not wait for agreement from a woman alone, especially one clad in breeches.
The danger she was in—had been in for who knew how long—made his temper flare, and he looked down to find his hand balled into a fist
For a moment, Grayson stared at it, as if the white knuckles belonged to someone else.His acquaintances would be surprised to find him so stirred, for he preferred to keep a level head.
But when he considered what might have happened to Kate… The fist banged down upon the desk, rattling both the ink jar and his composure.
Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Grayson deliberately flexed his fingers.Shuddering at his lapse, he blamed his wound and the illness that had followed.Telling himself that he had not yet fully recovered, he ignored the mocking inner voice that wondered if he ever would.
When sufficiently composed once more, Grayson went to find Kate.He did not have to go far, for the aroma of baking bread led him to the kitchen, where she was busy making breakfast.
The sight of her there, working over the hot hearth in worn trousers, produced a violent response in the depths of his being, and so he spoke more sharply than he intended.
“I want you to hire some help from the nearest village.Chisterton, is it not?”
Tom made a choking sound over his food, while Kate turned to gape at him.
“You know,” she said dully.Her face was flushed, but whether it was from the fire, surprise, or the memory of their meeting the night before, Grayson could not tell.
“Know what?That this is Hargate, and that you, the daughter of the Earl of Chister, are reduced to little more than a scullery maid?Yes, I know, and I should like to discover who is responsible.”
Tom and Kate both stared at him, silently, with stubborn, angry eyes, and Grayson cursed himself, the master of political finesse, for blundering so badly.But he could not help it.The thought of Kate’s gentle hands hard at work made him lose all sense of perspective.
“We get along,” Kate said, turning away from him, her back stiff and straight.She had pride, and Grayson had pricked it.He wanted to apologize.He wanted to kiss her and make it better.But most of all he wanted to shake the truth from her, so that he could avenge himself upon her alleged guardian.
